


Isolation Makes Me Hungry

by Purplesauris



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Choking Kink, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, I know, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, PWP, Safeword Use, This is for the discord, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, actually i do and i say he gets hair, alternate universe where boba grows his hair back i don't make the rules, and our 738 messages about the topic, it's explicit yall, shocking that there isn't an insane amount of lead up, there must be aftercare are you kidding me, touch play, worm movement, yes it is actually pwp this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 14:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purplesauris/pseuds/Purplesauris
Summary: Din has been away from home for too long- after his bounty goes better than expected, he goes home to Tatooine, a bit earlier than expected.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Comments: 5
Kudos: 229





	Isolation Makes Me Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 100 percent inspired and for KeldableKush over on tumblr, based on some art that they posted in our discord. Said art inspired 738 messages in the chat over it, and this wild ride from me. Thanks Kush <3

Tatooine was oppressively hot. 

It always had been; even when he was twenty years younger, scrounging for bounties in durasteel plate instead of beskar. It was hot even now, as the circuits in his suit chugged to accommodate the heat of the binary suns glaring above him. 

Hot, especially now as he slips into the hutt palace, past guards who give him hardly a glance. Too used to his shiny presence coming and going as he pleases. Too used to the way that Boba invites him in, time after time, armed to the teeth and sometimes dripping in blood. He passes through quiet halls, lit brighter than when Jabba owned the place, deeper into the interior, toward the only place he wants to be.

The descent down the steps, curving around and down toward the pit of the throne room, is dizzying. Not because he can’t handle the gentle curve of the wall, but because he knows what waits for him at the bottom.  _ Who _ waits for him at the bottom.

People shuffle around the room, mingling with one another in attempts to barter new deals, to break old ones. It’s normal, something he expects every time that he comes down the steps and sees them, circling around the pit in the floor. No one ever seems comfortable enough to walk directly over the grates of the rancor pit- but he does. It’s the easiest path, the most direct to the throne, and he walks over the grate without a care. He knows that there’s nothing left in the pit other than bones, and he places each footstep on the strongest parts, like a dance he’s long since mastered.

No one in the crowd calls any attention to him, though he knows that they’re looking. It’s an unspoken rule, somehow, that the first person to acknowledge him will be-

“You’re home early.” 

Boba Fett. 

His gaze drags up to the throne, to the man sitting on it, one leg thrown up over the arm and the other planted firmly on the floor. Relaxed. Ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. The contradiction in his form is a blade that he wields gladly- a blade that he’s never ever gotten used to. The raw power in knowing himself, in knowing his surroundings and those who mill around him, is a delight to watch.

He’s staring. He knows he is, but he can’t seem to help it. Boba doesn’t mind; he lets him look for as long as he wants, head tilted to one side and posture relaxed. Din feels himself smiling, a private thing just to get out some of the giddy energy pulsing through him.

“It would take longer if you gave me harder contracts.”

“Oh, they’re not hard enough?” Boba’s voice is tinged with amusement, though he doesn’t move from his throne. 

“I’m here early, aren’t I?”

“Hm.” His head moves, red deepening in the shadows as he looks around the room. He looks, seems to decide something, and then turns toward Fennec. She’s been at his shoulder the whole time- Din knows this, but he almost jolts at the sight of her anyway. His voice is too low to catch, even with the audio in his helmet kicked up to hear what the crowd is whispering. 

Fennec leans down to hear him better, braid falling over her shoulder, and her grin is serpentine when she nods. Her eyes cut over to him, bold, and she laughs. “Sure boss, I’ll do your job for you.”

Boba says something else, something that makes Fennec laugh, and then he’s unwinding from the throne, leg swinging off the arm and rising from his seat. Even with all his armor his movements are sinuous, easy. Fennec takes his spot on the throne, rifle leant against the arm near her as she folds one leg over the other. She has enough raw energy to fill the throne, but no one holds it the way Boba does- with enough strength and image to rival even Jabba.

He waits patiently, hands loose at his side as Boba steps down slowly, visor pinned on him the whole time. “Stepping down already?”

He doesn’t reply at first, green helmet tipping a little further before he jerks his chin toward the door. “I have prior arrangements.”

Biting back a reply that isn’t suitable for company, he turns toward the specified door and slips through the crowd. Boba follows along behind on silent footsteps, light and easy as they duck through the doorway and into the hallway beyond. “Prior arrangements?”

The question earns him a quiet chuckle, and a hand on the small of his back, just under the edge of his backplate. There are at least three layers between them, but his breath hitches anyway, and Boba’s fingertips press in lightly, urging him to walk a bit faster. “You’re home early.” 

He says it like that’s explanation enough, and- it is. He can feel his neck flushing, heat creeping up toward his cheeks, and he takes a steadying breath, even as he quickens his pace. They’ve walked the halls together a thousand times, day after day, visit after visit, and still he’s just as giddy as he was the first time that Boba had trusted with this. The first time that Boba had looked at him, brown eyes honey warm, and had asked if he was tired of sleeping alone. 

Neither of them run, though he can tell they both want to. Boba’s fingers keep pressing in, slowly increasing pressure, and the feeling has his vision going briefly blurry. The twists and turns of the hallway swallow the two of them up, deeper and deeper into the protection of the palace, and by the time they’re back to the room he’s practically hopping with energy. He’s here, he’s home again and Boba’s touching him.

The thought is a fuzzy warmth spreading through his veins, and he stands stock still in the middle of the room when Boba urges him to stop. “Let’s get you out of this. Were you hurt?”

“Okay.” Boba hums, gloves hands working away at his armor, and he looks down at him. Boba takes his left arm in hand, undoing the small clasps on the side that enclose the vambrace. 

“Injuries?” Boba prompts, jolting Din back into reality. He watches the way that Boba pulls his vambrace up and off before working at his glove, leaving both on top of the dresser. He doesn’t have a stand for his armor, not yet, but he prefers his beskar in one neat pile anyhow. 

“None. Easy job, like I said.”

“Mh. You’re just too good a  _ beroya _ .” The second vambrace and glove comes off, baring his palms and the faint scar on the meat of his right thumb. “Wish I could have come on this one.”

“Why this one?”

Boba doesn’t reply, instead reaching up to dislodge a pauldron. It goes on the pile, the second joining, and his palms smooth over his shoulders, easing the tension from them as he relaxes. The chestplate comes off, Boba’s hands brushing over the now blank space, and he shivers. 

Boba’s got him turned around, facing the bed when he speaks, voice low as he hoists his jetpack and backplate off. “Expected this one to be harder.”

“And you want to see that?”

“I want to see  _ you _ .” He corrects, knuckles bumping along his spine, even through the suit. Din’s toes curl in his boots at the feeling, and he bows his head when Boba’s fingers find the back of his neck, easing the cowl off of him. Removing another layer. It leaves the back of his neck cold, exposed, and he shivers again. “You’re impressive, even to the untrained eye. But I know your training. I know the way you fight.”

Head spinning, Din allows Boba to corral him back, to ease him into a sitting position on the bed while Boba takes hold of his knee. He lifts his leg a bit, getting it into the right position, and then those clever fingers of his find the clasp on the inner part of his thigh, working it loose as he lets out a shaky breath. 

“You’re gorgeous. Not just brute strength, but speed. Grace. You move through a fight like it’s been choreographed and you know the moves.”

He wishes that he could see Boba’s face, to tell if he was kidding. To know whether he’s just trying to butter him up. But there’s something sincere, something raw in his voice that betrays his true feelings. Heat skitters along his spine, pooling in his stomach at the sincerity in his tone. In the rough  _ want _ that he leaves so plainly in view. 

“You can come. Whenever you want.” Din’s cheeks heat at the same time that Boba pinches the inside of his thigh, making the muscle jump under his touch. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know what you meant.” 

It’s caught his attention though; his touches become heavier, more intentional, and what remains of his armor comes off faster. His flight suit is all but an afterthought, slid off with hardly a care and left strewn on the end of the bed. Only once he’s bare to the room, relaxed under Boba’s palms and not quite so jumpy, does he reach for his helmet. Bobe never asks, never tries to take his helmet off, and he’s relieved by it. His Creed, whatever he’s decided it is nowadays, is still… important to him.

Boba might be part of his clan, but there’s still a small voice in the back of his head that whispers that no one,  _ no one _ other than him may remove the helmet. So Boba waits, ever patient, as he sucks in a deep breath, undoes the seal, and lifts the helmet from his head. Light and sound filter differently to uncovered eyes, uncovered ears, and he blinks back the spots that swim behind his lids, trying to get used to the influx of information.

“Good?”

“Mhm.” His chest warms with affection at Boba’s worry- even after all this time, after how many times he’s seen him, he still asks. Still pauses for a moment before he cups Din’s cheek in his hand, laughing softly when he leans into it, eyes fluttering shut. He can smell the leather of Boba’s gloves, the faint metallic residue from a blaster, and some soft, silly noise slips from his lips, pleased. 

“Look at you.” His king breathes, thumb sweeping along Din’s cheekbone as he turns his head to place a soft kiss on the palm of his glove. “Beautiful. Help me out of my armor?”

He does so without hesitating, leaning into his touch for only a second more before standing from the bed and working with practiced, efficient movements. There’s no dallying in his task- Boba has threatened on more than one occasion to take it off himself if he’s too slow at it, so he works quickly. He knows it isn’t because he’s slow, more like Boba can’t stand to have it on any longer than he needs to when they’re alone together. So he strips Boba down, leaving the armor on its stand and pausing when Boba takes his wrist. 

“Leave the clothes on, for now.” 

“For now?” Hope leaks into his voice, even he can hear it, and Boba laughs softly. 

“For now.” He nods, agreeing, and Boba drops his wrist, reaching up to slip his helmet off. The first thing he notices is the scar curling over his cheek and behind his ear- it’s always the first thing he sees, the first thing he wants to press his lips to. He doesn’t hesitate now, dipping down to do just that. Boba tilts his head, anticipating it, and smiles when Din lingers. He lingers for a moment, a new sensation brushing over his lips, and he pulls back. 

He pulls back, and gasps in delight. “It’s growing back!”

He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but Boba is grinning, bashful and only a little shy as he sweeps a hand over his head. It’d taken months- months that neither of them were sure anything would happen, but Boba’s head is covered in a short layer of hair. Dark, tight curls that smush under his palms when he reaches to touch without thinking. Marvelling at the texture, he leans to bury his face in them, laughing when Boba mumbles something and wraps his arms around his waist. 

“You like it?”

He’s too busy marvelling at the feeling of those curls against his face, catching against his stubble to mumble more than a soft, “Mhm.” 

Boba only chuckles, fingers trailing up along his spine, and allows him to have a moment. He keeps his face pressed into Boba’s hair- the thought still brings a giddy kind of disbelief rising to the surface- even as Boba presses a soft kiss just under this jaw. The sensation shocks through him, jaw tweaking, and Boba hums out a quiet little noise. Like he can see every twitch no matter if his eyes are open or not. 

“It’s nice to have you back.” His lips move, brushing over Din’s neck, and the feeling sends heat washing over him. 

“Nice to be back.” That earns him another kiss, and he wants- he wants more than just little kisses on his neck, though they feel nice. He wants Boba to kiss  _ him _ , and he pulls back to tell him so, to take things into his own hands, but Boba is beating him to the punch. 

Their lips meet a little messier than he intends, a bit harder than might be necessary, but Boba groans softly, hands coming up to cup his cheeks. He holds him steady as he sways forward, trying to chase him when he pulls back and presses their foreheads together. “Easy.”

“Boba-”

“Are you that desperate?” He can feel his cheeks flushing, and it  _ should _ be embarrassing, but Boba is looking at him with such fondness. Such anticipation, as if the thought of him wanting it so bad already is the greatest gift he could have been given. 

“I can’t help that I miss you.” 

Boba huffs out a soft sound at that, pressing their foreheads together a bit harder. “Sap.”

Laughing, he tips his head forward, slotting their lips together again and sighing happily when Boba allows it. He loops an arm over Boba’s shoulder, slipping his hand over the soft curls on his head. They’re just long enough to tuck his fingers into, but not enough to grab, and he laments that fact for an instant before Boba nips at his lower lip. Abruptly, all the heat from before comes rushing back, and he whines into his mouth.

Boba nips again, biting a little harder, and he grabs weakly at his hair, groaning. He can’t  _ wait _ until his hair is long enough- he wants to grab, he wants to  _ pull _ and he wants to see what kinds of noises he’d make when Din did so. But for now, he contents himself with feeling them under his fingertips, delighting in the way they feel against his jaw when Boba pulls back to trail biting kisses down his neck.

Each new spot he finds, each mark that he worries into his skin has him twitching, fingers digging in and hips jumping. It’s unfair- it’s unfair how well Boba knows how to work him up, how sensitive he is to even the faintest brush of Boba’s fingers. His skin sings with each trail of his lips, sparks shocking through him when Boba grabs his arms and forces them down to his side. He holds him there, taking a step back, giving them space, and he bites back a whine. The noise vibrates through his chest, enough for Boba to feel, and his cheeks flush when Boba pulls back, clicking his tongue.

“Don’t hide those noises. I want to hear them.” Boba presses on his wrists, once, and Din gets the message, keeping his arms at his sides. 

“Sorry-” Their foreheads bump, and he opens his eyes- not sure when he closed them, to watch the way Boba’s eyes roam over him. Even that look, nowhere near a touch, has his nerves prickling with awareness.

“Don’t be sorry. Just be loud.” 

He’s not sure that he’s ever been loud- doesn’t even know if he can keep himself from biting back the sounds, but Boba’s hand grabs at his hip, thumb digging into the bone, and he moans without being able to help himself. His palm, his fingers are a brand, and he writhes at the sensation when Boba’s fingers dig in harder. His other hand traces up his ribs, skirting over them with idle attention, avoiding his nipple as he works his way up. 

“Boba…” 

“Did you touch yourself at all while you were gone?”

The question shocks him into stillness, and he isn’t prepared for Boba to surge up, kissing him hard and nearly rocking the two of them back. Heat flares up his spine as his hands come up, grabbing onto his biceps to hold them two of them steady. Boba nips hard at his lip, a warning, and he drops his hands quickly back to his sides, gasping sharply when the fabric of the bedspread brushes over the back of his thighs. 

He’s pinned there for a second, unable to touch as Boba’s hands roam over his hips, holding and pressing and rubbing, and he’s panting, sagging against him when Boba finally pulls back, eyes expectant. 

A groan rumbles through his chest unbidden, and he blushes, glancing away for a moment before looking back. He tries to steady his heart, to calm his breathing somewhat as he talks.

“I wanted to wait for you.”

“For two months?”

His cheeks heat further, flushing darker, and he nods. “It wasn’t the same. Your hands are bigger.”

“My hands?” The soft, incredulous noise that comes from Boba’s throat skitters straight to his groin, and the hands in question grab at his ribs now, tugging him close. “It doesn’t feel the same when you touch yourself, does it? You want me to touch you, to make you feel good.”

Boba’s pupils are blown, eyes dark, and he has to be in a similar state. He has to be, because he can feel sweat beading on his forehead, skin itching, and they’ve barely begun. “Yeah- please.”

His hands come up without his bidding, grabbing for him, and Boba clicks his tongue again. “If you don’t keep those hands down, I’m going to tie them up.” 

“ _ Please _ .” The words slips from his lips before he can hold it back, and he watches his eyes go wide briefly before he recovers, leaving a searing kiss on his lips before he steps back completely. Watching him go has his chest aching with the want to be near him, to kiss him again and say  _ fuck it all _ so long as Boba will touch him. But he doesn't go far, rummaging around in one of his dresser drawers. He pauses for a moment, as if debating, and when he turns around there are two different lengths of rope in his hand. Both look silky, smooth enough not to hurt but still with enough grip to hold him properly.

One is blue- a deep sapphire that reminds him of the last dregs of hyperspace. 

The other… The other is a rich, deep burgundy red. He takes one look at it and can’t seem to look away, staring wide eyed at the rope. It reminds him very abruptly of the red on Boba’s helmet, only darker, deeper. He stares at the rope, reaches out for it, and Boba hums inquisitively before pressing it into his waiting hands. He latches onto it immediately, and he was right: it’s silky in his hands, smoother than any rope he would have had on hand. It feels good in his hands, and he’s sad to let it go when Boba comes back over to take it from him.

“Do you remember our word?” Din nods. “What is it?”

“ _ Ge’tal _ .”

“At any time, Din. If you want me to stop completely, if you just want to be untied. You tell me. Okay?” Boba watches him, head tilting to the side until he looks up and nods. 

“I’ll tell you.” 

A pleased look warms Boba’s face, and he finds himself breathless at the sight. Breathless at the sight, and then at the anticipation that curls in him when Boba gently but firmly spins him around. 

“Arms behind your back.” 

He tucks his arms back and up, allowing Boba to guide him until his elbows are at ninety degree angles, one hand resting by his elbow, the other gently holding onto his bicep, right at the crook of his elbow. The first brush of the rope against his skin makes his breath hitch in his throat, startled by the sensation. He releases that breath slowly when Boba’s lips brush against his back, right between his shoulder blades, shoulders slowly slumping until he’s relaxed again. The rope goes around his forearms a few times, right in the middle, not tight enough to cut off circulation, but not loose enough to let him move. He feels Boba secure a knot above the binding of his forearm, effectively tying him up.

He expects that to be it- his hands are against his arms, behind his back where he won’t touch. But Boba takes it one step further: he has plenty of rope, and Boba’s lips find the space between his shoulder blades again before he murmurs, “Can you lift your arms, just for a minute? Tell me if it’s uncomfortable.”

He lifts his arms up and back, just enough for Boba to work. It pulls at his shoulders a little bit, but Boba works quickly, efficiently, wrapping the rope from his forearms around one bicep a few times before tying a knot. He stretches it across Din’s back, making another knot halfway, and then secures it around Din’s other bicep, finishing the binding with a knot near his arm and bringing it back down to wrap around his forearm another couple of times. 

Gentle hands guide his arms back down, settling him, and he can’t seem to pull in a decent breath. Not because the bindings are doing anything bad- his shoulders feel fine, they aren’t too tight, but there’s so  _ much _ sensation. They’re soft against his skin, biting in just slightly when he strains against them. The knot in the middle of the rope spanning the width of his back brushes against his vertebrae with each breath he pulls in, and he gasps, shuddering. 

He doesn’t realize he’s bowed his head, tucked his chin until Boba frames his face with his palms, forcing him to look up. He leans heavily into the touch, swaying toward him, and Boba’s lips quirk in a smile. “Ready to continue?”

“Mhm.”

“Not good enough.” He chides, voice quietly commanding in that lovely, sonorous way of his. 

His mouth dries, whole body throbbing with his arousal, and he licks his lips before he talks. “Yes. Please?” 

Boba’s eyes go dark, half lidded, and he points a single finger toward the floor. “Then kneel.” 

The ground is hard on his knees as he sinks down, but he can handle that. The eventual discomfort will be worth it, will remind him later of this, when he’s getting up tomorrow morning. He kneels, getting himself comfortable, and twitches automatically to touch when Boba comes closer. The rush that goes through him upon realizing that he can’t has his cock twitching against his hip, and all he can do is tip his head up and watch. 

He tracks each and every one of Boba’s movements, straining to look over his shoulder when Boba disappears around him. A tap on his cheek has him looking forward again, and the hair on the back of his neck raises when he feels Boba lean close. He can feel the heat that radiates from him, warming his back, and he moans suddenly when the rope between his arms go tight, yanking him back and into a more rigid kneel.

“No slumping.” He nods, trembling when Boba tugs on the rope again with a pleased little hum. “What did you think about at night?”

“I-”

“What kind of dreams did you have, to make you desperate enough to walk into my throne room like that?”

“Nothing particular- just  _ you _ .”

Fingertips brush over his shoulder as Boba comes around his other side, trailing down his upper arm and dropping away at the elbow. “No pretty stories to tell me? Pity. Guess I’ll have to tell you some of mine.”

“You dreamt of me?”

Boba stops in front of him, hand coming up to grasp his chin and tilt his head up higher. He stretches up into the touch, going up higher on his knees, and whimpers when Boba kisses him, slow and filthy. He shakes at the curl of Boba’s tongue, the thorough, debauched way he claims his mouth completely before pulling back just enough that he can talk, lips brushing against Din’s the whole time. 

“Every night I dreamt of you.” The thought has his heart pounding in his chest, and he doesn’t dare to blink, to look away when Boba leans back, holding his chin and keeping him stretched up. “It wasn’t very explicit at first. Just your hands on my cock, working me over.”

He huffs a small laugh, shrugging his shoulders as if to prove he can’t do that. Boba’s brows go up, and he resumes his slow pace around Din, talking the whole time.

“But then, the more I slept, the more I missed you, it got worse. I dreamt of that mouth of yours, always so quick with a retort, so sweet for me when I fuck your throat. Lips spread around my cock, but you didn’t want to be anywhere else.” 

He follows the sound of Boba’s voice desperately, not wanting to miss a thing even if he can’t see him. Occasionally Boba will touch him, drag fingers over his shoulders, along the rope spanning across his back, nails digging just so into his collarbone when he whines. 

“You’re always so good for me, so pretty. The  _ sounds _ you made when I opened you on my fingers, let you writhe on my hand to chase your own pleasure. The way you came for me, spilling over your belly without a thought, moaning my name.”

He moans it now, eyelids fluttering as Boba’s fingers flutter over the side of his neck, pressing up under his jaw for a moment. Each touch or lack of touch only ratchets up the burning under his skin, until he’s shaking at each brush, twitching uncontrollably and moaning at even the slightest pressure. 

“But that wasn’t enough for you. Oh, you begged for me, Din,  _ begged,  _ and how could I resist you?” Boba makes another complete rotation, pausing in front of him to slide fingers into his hair. He leans into the touch, keeping his back straight even as his knees protest. Boba’s fingers go tight in his hair, twisting the strands lightly as he pulls his head back, speaking over the keen that shakes from his lips. “How could I resist stuffing you full of my cock? Of watching the way that your hips moved, the desperate way you grabbed at me as I fucked you?”

Heat is roiling through his veins now, spots dancing behind his eyelids as Boba pulls on his hair again. 

“Did I make you come?” 

The question is a gamble, but Boba groans, dipping down to kiss him, lapping into his mouth briefly before pulling back again. He takes another lap, fingers brushing over the side of his neck, feeling the way his pulse jumps at the touch, cock throbbing. 

“Every time. Woke up every time to my hand around my cock, touching myself to the thought of you. Don’t know how you managed to wait so long.”

“Wanted you.” 

“I know you did. Fuck, seeing you in the throne room today was almost too much. Wanted to clear the room, fuck you bent over the arm of the chair until neither of us could stand.”

“Why didn’t you?” 

“I wanted it to last longer, and something tells me you aren’t going to.” He teases, chuckling softly when Din groans and tips his head back. He wishes that he could say he would have, that he would have been able to hold on with Boba bending him over the throne. But to his shame and relief he knows that he wouldn’t have. Boba stops behind him, humming, and he gasps, choking on a breath and whining when Boba’s chest presses against his back. His chin goes over Din’s shoulder, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and his fingers twitch, catching the fabric of Boba’s shirt in a weak grip and twisting at it. “Are you thinking about it? We’d both be too desperate, too impatient to do it right. We’d be in our armor still, your flight suit pulled down just enough.”

“ _ Please _ -” Boba’s hand comes up, two fingers tapping at his lips, and he opens his mouth automatically. He presses down on Din’s tongue, huffing at the way he wraps his lips around and sucks, laving his tongue the best he can as he moans. 

“You keep lube in one of your pockets- I know you do. It’d be just enough to open you up, to smooth the way as I sank into you.” His fingers draw back, catching against his teeth, and then slide back in, slowly picking up a steady rhythm as he talks. “You’d be so  _ tight _ around me, so needy from not touching yourself for so long- I’d take it slow, make sure you felt everything. The way the throne pressed into your hips, the way I filled you up. Shit, I’d have you near crying, legs shaking and hips rocking back into every thrust.” 

He’s going to lose his mind- he’s really, really going to lose his mind. His stomach twists pleasantly, shocks jittering over his skin, and he moans around Boba’s fingers. He wants to do all that- he wants Boba to fuck him until he can’t think straight, he wants Boba to pin him down and get him shaking the way he does when Boba angles himself just right. He rocks his hips back on instinct, moaning, and Boba leaves him abruptly. He whines at the loss of his warmth, his support, but Boba comes around to the front, thumb catching on his chin as his index finger curls under his chin and lifts his head. 

“It’d be hard to grab you, to hold onto you. All that beskar in the way, so few hand holds to get a grip…” He trembles, eyelids fluttering shut as Boba’s index finger stretches out, tracing down the length of his throat and resting over his adam's apple. He swallows automatically at the feeling, lips parting as Boba’s thumb brushes over his bottom lip. “But you’re so good for me. It would be you who asked for it first, my fingers around your throat. Holding you up against my chest as I fucked you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“ _ Yes,  _ yes  _ please _ -” 

“Please what?” Boba’s voice drops, low and rough, and he leans forward, straining. 

“Grab my throat.” 

Boba doesn’t hesitate- he never has, not with them, not with anything that he’s ever asked of him. His palm hits first, not hard, but firm across the front of his throat as his fingers wrap around his neck, digging into the sides just so. His heartbeat is a thunderous throb in his head, pulsing against his forehead as stars burst against the back of his eyelids. Heat unravels from him, flooding him in molten waves of ecstasy as Boba’s fingers press in a bit harder, making his head swim with the sensation.

“ _ Fuck _ \- fuck Din, that’s so  _ good _ -” A hand goes into his hair, smoothing it off his forehead, and he whimpers at the touch, hips jumping, and oh- oh he’s- Boba’s hand goes tight around his throat and he chokes on a cry of his name, the last dregs of his orgasm crashing through him so hard that the only thing keeping him upright is the hand around his neck. “You’re so good, so,  _ so  _ good for me.” 

Boba’s hand stays firm on his throat until he’s shaken his way through the last bits of his orgasm, and his thighs tremble as Boba eases him up into his arms. He whimpers at the brush of cloth against his thighs, his cock, and Boba shushes him softly, sitting him on the edge of the bed as he pets through his hair. The hand around his throat disappears, and the throbbing of his heart fades slowly as the pressure leaves him. Boba keeps one hand in his hair, petting him softly while the other reaches around to fumble with the knots. They fall away with little coaxing, and his shoulders ache a little as he surges to grab onto whatever part of Boba he can reach. 

He still can’t get his eyes to open, can’t get his legs to work right, but Boba takes care of him, shushing him softly and smoothing a hand down his back. He digs his fingers into the muscle of Boba’s back, trembling in his arms and twitching at each brush of fabric, each slow pass of Boba’s hand on his back. They stay that way, pressed together at the edge of the bed until slowly Boba eases him up the mattress, onto his back spread out among the pillows. Boba keeps him there, kissing him softly and tracing hands over his skin until he slumps, relaxing back into the bed, growing more and more desensitized to the touches the longer that he works at it.

After a few agonizing minutes of whining and moaning at each touch his pulse settles, and the touches warm into something comforting instead of blinding, overwhelmed sensation. Finally he can blink his eyes open, staring first up at the ceiling, and then when that comes into focus, searching for Boba’s face. His lips are quirked in a soft affectionate smile, and he rolls halfway up onto his side as Boba catches his hips, holding him.

“There you are.” 

“Here I am.” Din whispers back, blinking slowly and choking back a yawn. Boba leans to bump their foreheads together, sighing softly. His head feels floaty in the best of ways, and he thinks faintly that he should help Boba out, that he shouldn’t leave him hanging, but.. But Boba is soft and warm against him, and when he shifts, trying to mumble some excuse, Boba only shushes him and presses a kiss into his hair. 

“Later. That was a lot.”

“It was good.” He protests, voice weak in his own ears. Boba chuckles quietly, placing another kiss into his hair. 

“I know. Still a lot, though. Take a breather, I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“You promise?” He tilts his head up, peeking his eyes open, and hums in surprise when Boba rolls, propping himself up over Din as he dips to kiss him. His hand flies up, now that he’s free to do so, and he cups the side of Boba’s neck, sighing against his lips. The kiss is gentle, slow, and he slips his hand up to the back of Boba’s neck, fluffing through the hair that curls at the nape of his neck. Boba doesn’t pull away but he does press into the touch, moaning quietly. 

“I promise.” He finally mutters, pulling back when Din’s grin breaks the kiss. 

“Maybe we could try the throne thing.”

“Don’t push your luck.” 

His grin is smarmy, pleased as he closes his eyes, settling down into the pillows as his eyes flutter shut. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Sure you don’t want to-”

“Din, do not start something you don’t have the energy to finish.”

“I’m just  _ saying _ -” Boba’s mouth covers his, and he doesn’t say much of anything else after that. At some point in between kisses Boba mutters, to him or himself he isn’t sure, but the idea is a good one.

“Go to  _ sleep _ .” 


End file.
